


Sister-wife

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Emotional Baggage, Future Fic, Impregnation, Incest, Marriage of Convenience, Multi, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon wrapped the red and black cloak about Daenerys, the grey and white he placed gently on the shoulders of the girl who had once been his sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sister-wife

"The smallfolk won't like it. She's your sister," Sam said. His chain and his obligations seemed to weigh on him these days, but he was still Jon's most trusted friend, and was, as always, able to speak freely with him.

Jon shook his head. "She never thought of me as her brother, not even when we were children. And if I am truly... what they say, then she is no closer than a cousin. When one is already marrying one's aunt, a cousin hardly seems to matter any more. Besides," he continued hastily, feeling an unspoken pressure from Sam, "it's to keep her safe. No one will be able to harm her if we're wed."

Sam shook his head. "You'll never be able to protect her from everything, Jon. You can't make up for not being there…"

Jon silenced him with a look. "If Sansa consents to it, then where is the harm? It is a sensible alliance, bringing what remains of the Starks and Tullys together with the Targaryen line." Sam's gaze still accused him, so Jon tried to put an end to the discussion. "It's not as though I'm lusting to lie with her."

"There will have to be children, though," Sam added, almost as an afterthought.

That much had been obvious from the beginning. All they had fought for would mean nothing if there was yet another civil war in a generation's time. "Daenerys may conceive," he insisted, though in truth it had been her utter certainty that she was barren that had first led her to suggest a third partner.

"And if she does not?" Sam persisted.

"Then we'll see," was all he could say.

He told Sansa the same thing. "To protect you. A sensible alliance." His words sounded hollow even to him, though he knew them to be true.

Sansa seemed older than her years, and her voice was sadder than he remembered. "If I refuse, I'll only be married off to some other lord. It might not be one nearly so kind," she said with a world-weary smile, and took his hand. He forced away guilty thoughts of what Lord Eddard or Lady Catelyn would say if they could see this day.

The wedding was complex. The septon had never performed a double wedding - nor had any still living - and he stumbled to follow the Targaryen rite as it was written in the old book. Jon sweated through the ceremony, wearing two cloaks at his own insistance. The ritual required only one, laid first over one bride's shoulders and then the other's, but he had a right to both, and felt it unjust to not treat them (the brides as well as the Houses) equally. He wrapped the red and black cloak about Daenerys, the grey and white he placed gently on the shoulders of the girl who had once been his sister.

The bedding was a more dignified affair than the usual raucous festivities; the guests seemed uncertain how far they should go with their new ruler. Only their outer clothes were removed, and they were carried almost decorously to the chamber, where they were finally left alone. Daenerys's eyes were bright as she took Sansa's hands. "Sansa, my sister-wife… may I call you sister?" she asked, almost shyly. "I always wanted a sister."

"Of course," Sansa told her. "I would be honoured." Jon caught a look in her eye, and knew they were thinking the same thing. Daenerys was probably closer to Sansa's childhood dream of a perfect sister, but now she missed Arya, so very much. They both did.

They all felt awkward, even Daenerys, usually so confident, but it was Sansa, ever the well-mannered hostess, who tried to put them at ease. "Don't worry about me," she told them with a slight smile. "I can sleep through anything." Then she deliberately turned her back to them, rolling herself in the blanket until she was little more than a lump. Jon wondered if he ought to say something to her, but decided to leave her be for the moment.

Dany shrugged. "It's not as if anyone will be inspecting the sheets tomorrow. You're the only one here who hasn't been married before," she said, tapping Jon on the chest playfully as she began to undress him the rest of the way.

Jon felt his cheeks flush when she sought the softness of his cock and began to stroke it into readiness. He had been lying with Dany since before the Wall came down, but never with his sister ( _with Sansa,_ he corrected himself, _my wife_ ) next to them. He drew back, gently but firmly pushing her hand away. "At least wait until I'm under the covers," he pleaded.

"So modest," Daenerys teased him - he knew that among the Dothraki, they did such things all but publically - but she was patient. Once he was hidden under the blankets and the candles had been snuffed, it was a little easier to pretend they were alone. Sansa made no sound - she could have been asleep, for all Jon could tell. Or at least she could have until Dany mounted him. He knew her usual sounds well enough to wonder if she was exaggerating them this night, though for what purpose (to convince any eavesdroppers that the marriage was indeed being consummated? to force Sansa to hear her pleasure?) he could not guess. Whatever the reason, her cries were more drawn-out than usual, the shuddering shriek when she reached her release loud enough to wake half the castle. He stifled his own cry with his arm.

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, Jon half-woke to the sound of the two women talking softly. "No, it doesn't hurt, at least not after the first time," Dany was saying. Jon kept still, hoping they wouldn't notice he'd stirred.

"I only wondered... it sounded..." Sansa was speaking so quietly he could barely make out her words.

"Is that what you're afraid of?" asked the queen. "Or is there something more?" But if Sansa gave her any answer, Jon didn't hear it, and soon drifted back into dreams.

He rose earlier than they did. Sansa slept curled on her side, Dany sprawled on her back, blankets pushed down around her waist, leaving her small, pointed breasts bared to the air, which was still cool. He suspected that most men in the realm would envy him at this moment, but all he could feel was a gnawing worry that this was all some horrible mistake. He took himself down to the training yard in an attempt to drive away his doubts, and ignored the stares of those who no doubt thought him mad for leaving his wedding bed so early in the morning.

When he returned some hours later, they were awake and dressed... somewhat. Daenerys was in the Dothraki garb she preferred for private relaxation, and Sansa had apparently decided to try it as well. The open vest showed little that was indecent on the queen, small as her breasts were, but on Sansa it could do little to conceal the fullness of her body. She tugged it closed a little, blushing, when Jon entered the room.

"Jon!" said Dany brightly. "I was just going to braid my sister's hair. It's such a lovely colour, don't you think?"

"Yes," he replied as evenly as he could, and strode over to the basin to cleanse the sweat from his face.

"I'll put in bells for you too, if you've earned them," Daenerys continued. "How many men have you killed, Sansa?"

"Two." Sansa's voice was quiet but firm. "That I know of."

Jon arched an eyebrow, but didn't pry. He knew from childhood that if Sansa truly wanted to keep a secret, it would be next to impossible to get it out of her. She would tell him in her own time, or not at all.

"Two," Dany repeated. "Very respectable. Two bells, then." Her fingers worked swiftly, plaiting Sansa's thick hair and adding the small jingling ornaments, gold against the burnished auburn. Daenerys's own braid hung heavy with bells, too many to count.

"Look at her, Jon," the queen said when she was done. Jon looked, trying not to see the way Sansa's pale breasts shifted beneath the small leather vest or the blush that flooded her cheeks when his eyes were upon her.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Daenerys ran her hands slowly over Sansa's shoulders, down her back, around her waist, and up under the vest to tease and fondle her. Sansa lowered her head with a little moan while the queen kissed the curve of her neck. The blush, Jon couldn't help but notice, was spreading down to her collarbones. One of Dany's hands continued to work at Sansa's nipple, while the other dipped lower, sliding across her stomach and under the waistband of the loose trousers. Sansa sighed, eyes closed, and leaned back to give her sister-wife easier access. Her legs parted as if by their own volition.

Jon bit his lip, torn. He could guess at Dany's intentions, but he didn't know whether Sansa was going along with them out of genuine desire, or simply a desire to please. Dany motioned for Jon to join them, so he took a step closer, but still hesitated. He was hard, but his stomach felt as though it was twisted in a knot. _She's my sister, I shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't see her like this._

"Come over here," Daenerys ordered him at last, in that regal voice that would brook no disobedience. He did as he was told - she had always had that effect on him, able to strip him of his will, his objections, his morals. "I want to see you with her," the queen said, more gently, when he finally knelt at their feet.

"Sansa," Jon murmured, "may I?" She nodded, eyes still shut. His kiss on her lips could still almost be taken as brotherly, but her breasts were soft and heavy in his palms, larger than those of any other woman he'd ever touched. He couldn't help the groan that escaped him when, shyly, she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to draw him closer.

There was no need for Dany to stroke him into readiness this morning, but she whispered encouragement to them nevertheless, and braced Sansa's back against her chest when Jon finally entered her. Sansa's eyes flew open then, and it was as if she saw him, truly saw him, for the first time. "Jon?" she whispered, "is this really happening?"

Unable to find any words, and torn up with guilt, he drew back, pulling out of her so fast it made her gasp. "Not this way. Not if you don't want it."

"No," she said. "It's all right. I'm not that girl anymore." She tugged him back down, guiding him into her clumsily, with an awkward mix of pain and pleasure. He doubted whether he'd be able to continue, but her legs twined about his back to urge him on. Dany's gaze on them - hungry, almost predatory - had much the same effect, and at last he felt something within him unknot itself and let go.

"Never again," he told the queen in private afterwards.

"You'll do your duty," she told him calmly, and he knew, as always, that she was right.

When Sansa's belly began to swell a few months later, she seemed surprised but pleased. She and Dany could talk of little but the baby, and Jon felt terrible intruding on their obvious joy, so he kept his doubts and guilt to himself. There was no rational reason to think it would be anything but normal, to imagine that he had bred another monster. He had shattered every one of his vows but this - taken wives, held lands, worn a crown, and won glory. Fathering a child, it seemed, was the most painful one to break.


End file.
